Lower than low
by Chinese Bakery
Summary: He never made the conscious decision to hate women, really. Season 1, Bellick with a glimpse of Sara.


_If I'm a dog then you're a bitch_  
Weezer, _Butterfly_

He never made the conscious decision to hate women, really. It was just that every time he saw one he liked, he felt the urge to humiliate her. Well, to fuck her first, then to make her feel worthless and used. It started in high school, when all the pretty ones decided to call him 'Fattick'. They were everywhere, those prom queen wanabee's in their tight sweaters, with their shiny hair and their look of utter repulsion whenever their eyes accidentally caught his. As he grew older, it never left him. When he saw an attractive woman, he always imagined how she must have looked back then and how she would have laughed in his face if he'd found the courage to go and talk to her.

He never made the choice to attend those meetings, either. Well, it was one of those cases of a choice not being one. It was either attend AA meetings twice a week or being charged with DIU, lose his job and the tiny shred of power being a correctional officer conferred him. The first time he was asked to participate, he was mortified. He stood up and, like in the movies, said 'Hi, my name is Brad'. And they all replied in unison, 'Hi, Brad'. All those failures staring at him, judging him. He wished he could wipe the smirk off their moronic faces with a good old kick in the teeth.

But after a couple of weeks, when he started overcoming his embarrassment, he noticed her. Her name was Clara and she always held a tissue by her face as if she needed to wipe her nose, but he discovered she only tried to hide her shame behind it. She wasn't all that young anymore, far from gorgeous, but not ugly either. And more importantly, she didn't mock him when he went to her. She offered to be his sponsor, and he gladly accepted.

He started to see more and more of Clara. She laughed at his jokes. She smiled when she caught his eyes. She met his mother and acted like any potential girlfriend should, sweetly and discreetly, with a touch of shyness that won his Mom over. She let him in her apartment, then in her bed. When they were done, he spat, "You're much more attractive with your clothes on," and felt nothing but triumph when he saw her face fall and her eyes glisten with tears. He had to find another sponsor after that, but it was well worth the effort.

All he needed was to meet women with a low self esteem. It was so simple; he couldn't believe he hadn't thought about it sooner. He started enjoying his meetings a lot more after that revelation, to pine for them, even. Two a week were not enough, so he found others to attend, AA, NA, anything that agreed with his work schedule. His wandering eyes learned to recognize those who were too confident, those who had someone who still cared for them and those who were truly devastated and lonely. He became quite an expert in spotting those ones.

When he first saw Sara, all the signs were there. The uneasiness, the awkwardness, she looked like she was completely lost. Ripe and ready to be picked up. She used to be a doctor, he found out. He wasn't surprised; she looked like an older version of the spoiled little bitches from school. When she stood up and told her story, she looked like she owned the place. But she was pretty and fragile, and he couldn't pass up a chance with a chick like that.

"Hey Sara, you used to be a doctor, right?"

Before she even replied, he knew. It was all in her eyes. The pride, the disdain, the contempt. He kept talking, bracing himself for a poorly cooked excuse, if she even bothered with one. The girls like her; they were useless, they only put out for the jocks, the pretty college boys with the shiniest car or the rich bastards willing to pay whatever it cost in fancy restaurants to get into their pants. So arrogant, so certain of their worth, just because they were good-looking and born in the right neighbourhood. He could only ever get a girl like that when they were lower than low, biting the dust.

It served them right, the bitches.


End file.
